Stuck In Reverse
by jessicalynnrand
Summary: The more private story of White Chocolate with a darker twist. Sam Evans gets himself into some trouble along the way, and makes some decisions he wishes he hadn't. Regret, lots of it. Rated T, but will  most likely  change to M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Sam walked down the darkened streets of Lima, Ohio. He'd take in a deep breath and say the stereotypical "it's good to be back" phrase, but the block was too crowded with smokers and other maladies to the nose that he thought it'd be better to keep his mouth as closed as possible.

Sam and his family had recently moved back into Ohio – recently being a few weeks ago. Basically, everyone in his family, including himself missed this stupid little town so much, that they decided to go back and deal with the consequences.

One of the consequences was that Sam needed to find a job. Over the past few weeks, Sam had applied as a waiter, a secretary, a cashier at a local store, and all of those other common part-time jobs, but all of those applications had been online – a place where he couldn't make an impression, and where he had no idea whether or not the place he was applying to was actually in need of a new employee. Therefore, Sam had set out onto the streets in an attempt to find out if there was actually any hope of him getting a job, but after he visited all of the places that he had applied to and more, he soon discovered that his situation was hopeless. There were hundreds of people scouring the streets for any job that they could find. Sam was just one more annoying kid begging for a job to fill the pockets that had been empty for so long.

He turned a corner onto an alleyway that he didn't exactly recognize, and began to immediately regret it. However, deciding that he'd look like an idiot if he just turned around, he decided to walk all of the way through. This alley was even more crowded that the street he had just come from. It was littered with people dressed in all kinds of crazy outfits – from women with obnoxiously large wigs and holding long cigarettes to men wearing a shirt that was buttoned down way too low than the temperature should permit. They glared at him, cigarettes perched precariously on their fingertips, and nearly smirked at Sam. He pulled his coat collar up a bit and tried to clear them out of his mind.

However, a large sign displayed in a window caught his interest, and he immediately stopped walking. "_Help Wanted_", it read, and that's all. He looked around to see if there was a sign for the entrance to the building, but he couldn't find one. It was an unmarked place, just like the Hollister in the mall where they just expect that everyone knows what store it is.

But, desperately needing a job more than anything at the moment and completely forgetting the don't-go-into-sketchy-buildings rule of life, Sam Evans made a decision. Sam Evans walked inside of that building.

Inside the room, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the weird florescent lighting being used. He heard a lot of noise, and saw many different colors. He felt a shoulder shove past him and an angry grunt to follow. He felt his heartbeat begin to increase, and his eyes settled on the scene in front of him.

On a small stage approximately two feet off of the ground were three half-naked men dancing to the tune that was being blasted from the speakers overhead. He looked at the audience to oddly find a mix of both women and men who were all staring at the dancers. As soon as he realized what kind of place he had gotten himself into, he wanted to leave. He turned, but found himself coming face-to-face with a tall skinny woman. She, however, wasn't dressed as, well, unusual as everyone else in the room. She had on dark wash jeans and a plain, low-cut black shirt. "You lost, sweetie?" She said kindly, but Sam knew this type of woman. He had seen and met and dealt with girls like her before – the kind who treat boys like himself as if they are some sort of pet that can just be fooled around with and cast away when they're not wanted anymore.

Sam tilted his head down. "No, I was just leaving." He wanted to take a step – a step that would reverse the stupid decision that he had made to enter this building, but he found a cold hand was now grasping his arm.

"You want a job here?" She asked. He stared at her. He had barely mumbled a few words to the woman, and he was being offered a job. Yes, he'll admit that the mere thought of a job was tempting, but he remembered where he was, and he shook his head. The lady sighed. "Oh, come on. You're really good-looking, you know. Here – I bet you could make a starting salary of, oh, at _least_ twenty dollars an hour, and that's on a bad night." Now, Sam's heart stopped. Twenty dollars _an hour?_ Hell, that be a hundred dollars if he worked five hours a day, and five hundred dollars a week if he worked daily after school… The numbers began adding up in Sam's clouded head, and he looked at the woman some more, who was now giving up that "come on, you know you want to" look. Although, he didn't want to. He completed despised this entire idea. He was self-conscious enough, and he didn't want people looking at his stupid body all of the time, constantly judging him and weighing the price of his sight in their minds – judging him.

But again, he thought of his younger brother and sister and of his family – how they really needed this money. He thought of how much food he'd be able to get them, and many even some new blankets and winter coats for the kids, because they would definitely need it in the upcoming weeks.

He looked down to where the woman's hand was extended in front of his own and before he could think for another moment, he felt her cold skin against his fingers as he grabbed her hand firmly in his own and heard the words "you're hired."


	2. Chapter 2

A few weeks later, Sam was up on that same stage. He had been bringing hundreds of dollars a week into his house. Of course, his family thought that he was just working at a restaurant, and doing quite well, therefore, earning a lot of cash in tips. Whenever his father would say how proud he was of his son, and how glad he was that his son was helping out, Sam would feign a small smile. His heart would begin to beat out of control, and he would run into the nearest bathroom, lock the door, and sit on the floor until the tears fell again.

The truth of the matter was that taking this job was probably the stupidest decision that Sam had ever made. Every day, he walked into the building, he prepared, he danced. But every day, Sam wished that he really was working at a restaurant. He'd take off articles of clothing piece by piece until he was always nearly naked except for a small pair of underwear. He'd get money thrown at him by girls, but the scariest part of the job was the fact that guys also did it. They watched him, and they watched him with cruel-looking smiles on their faces, and yes, it made Sam uncomfortable.

Now, Sam wasn't homophobic. He had been friends with Kurt, and he had loved him like a brother, but the way that these guys were just staring at him? It would've scared anyone, and it did. Even the homosexual employees would go behind the stage between numbers, and the looks on their faces were horrendous. Once, Sam saw a boy – who couldn't have been much older than 15 – crying into his friend's arms out of sheer fear. He's seen scars on the arms of one too many of the boys that he worked with – always covered up with stage makeup or long sleeves.

Sam saw these scars, and he worried if he was going to end up like them. Right now, he definitely felt as if he were heading down that direction. He hated himself for doing what he was doing – he felt dirty. He was ashamed at who he saw in the mirror, and he felt angry – not just at himself, but at all of the horrible people who came into this room – who forced him to continue to do what he despised.

Currently, Sam was dancing to another one of the club's stupid songs. Directly in front of Sam was a man wearing a long trench coat and a fedora – just like the classic detective would. He was looking up at Sam as he peeled the last bit of his pants off and turned his back to the audience for a part of the song. The guy next to Sam looked at him, "Are you okay?" he mouthed. Sam nodded, but he wasn't okay. He was on the verge of tears, again.

Thankfully, the song ended. The person controlling the music always tried to keep the songs short, because he, too, knew what it was like to be up on that stage, a hundred beady eyes staring at you.

The boys posed together, all flashing smiles that meant nothing to themselves. A curtain closed, and Sam fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. The boys called his name; one was instructed to fetch a bucket. Sam was groaning. The volume of the voices in front of the curtain was rising. Sam was hyperventilating now – a boy's hand was on his bare back, telling him that it was going to be fine, but Sam knew otherwise. A bin was placed in front of him; he grasped both sides of it and vomited. The hand rubbed his back. Sam looked up to see the fifteen-year-old boy with tears on his cheeks. Sam gave him a small smile. "I'm fine. It must just be a bug." The concerned look on the boy's face did not change, and Sam knew his argument wasn't convincing.

The manager of the club came backstage. "What the fuck do you think you boys are doing back here? Clean that bucket out. Get off of here. Get changed. Go home, or wherever you spend your free time. You're all disgusting me right now." He walked away, and the boys began moving around. One carried the bucket away from Sam and towards the bathroom; a few others walked through a door into the changing rooms, and one of them brought Sam all of his clothes.

Sam looked down at his pale hands which were now shaking. A boy named Justin squatted down in front of him and looked him square in the eye. "Sam," he said in a calm voice. Justin had been here for about five years now. His face was hard, but still kind. "Breathe, boy." Sam did as he was told – deep breaths. Justin patted him on the shoulder. "You're going to be okay, I promise. You're strong. Come on. Think of your family." Sam did. He thought of his brother and sister and how they needed him. He smiled at the thought of them and whispered a 'thank you' to Justin, who left after the scene.

Sam was now alone on the stage. He looked at the floorboards and realized how crooked and cracked they were before slipping all of his clothes back on, then he walked into one of the changing rooms – still alone – where he kept the rest of his things.

As he was stuffing a sweatshirt into his bag, he heard footsteps at the door. The sound put the fear back in his stomach, and he felt nauseas again. He turned to face the door, and when he saw the man in the trench coat, he forced himself back a few feet and his eyes widened.

The man stepped into the room and closed the door. Sam was trapped. He wanted to scream out for one of the other boys to come to him, but he knew that was a stupid idea. The man took his hat off and put it down on a bench.

"You're shaking," he said, and Sam was, and he couldn't say anything rude to this man. The store manager had made it very clear that if they were to disrespect any customers, their job position would be terminated.

So all that Sam could do was stand against the wall, his chest heaving up and down with the pulse of his heart as the man moved closer to Sam.

"I want to cut straight to my reasoning for being in this room with you right now." Sam knew what the man was getting at. He'd heard stories from the other boys about the scariest things that they'd been through with customers, and he didn't want to become another storyteller – another statistic.

"I like girls," Sam blurted out, before realizing what he was saying, or why he was even saying it. The man paused for a minute, but began his walk after a brief stop.

"I don't care, and you shouldn't either. I'm not going to ask you for anything… _that _serious. In fact, if you close your eyes, you can imagine that I am whoever you want me to be." The man was directly in front of Sam now, and he took a good look at him. The man was older, probably in his late thirties or early forties. His face was thin and the hair that was left on the top of his head was a dark grey, but not quite black.

The man reached down and began to touch Sam through his pants. Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want this. He didn't want any man's hands on him like this, let alone a strange man who came to night clubs.

"Please, let me do this. Just stay here. I need to taste a boy again." Everything about that sentence from the words to the way the man said it made Sam shudder. The man was now pressing his mouth to Sam's neck, and Sam wanted to slap him, but he knew he couldn't. He was still trapped.

"Three hundred dollars," the man mumbled. Sam's eyes widened at the number and pushed the man back for a minute.

"What?" He questioned.

"I'll give you three hundred dollars if you just let me have you for forty minutes." Sam thought this over. Three hundred dollars was three days of work, and a lot of food for his family. The man was looking at him with desperate eyes.

"Make it thirty," Sam said. The man smiled, an leaned back into Sam's neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Thirty minutes later, the man was zipping up his pants, and then reached forward, but Sam waved him off. "I can do that." The man frowned as he reached into his pocket and pulled out three crumpled hundred dollar bills. He placed them in Sam's hands, and Sam was too overwhelmed and out of his mind to even process how much money he was holding at the moment.

With one last glance at Sam, the man exited the room. Sam felt his knees finally give out as he slid down against the wall. He drew his legs up to chest and hugged them. The money fell from his hands and to the ground. He placed his head on the tops of his knees and sobbed. God, and he had thought he felt dirty before? Now, everything was worse – twelve times worse, more than that. The pain that was living inside of him was being poured out through his tears, and he couldn't breathe. He glanced at the bills lying next to him. They were just three small pieces of paper, and yet they were now so much more. They represented how horrible of a person he was. They represented how low he was willing to stoop.

Sam heard a knock on the door, and by reflex, shouted "no!" but when he looked up and saw the scared fifteen-year-old standing in the doorway with his arm raised, Sam immediately regretted shouting. "Oh, it's you. I thought that it… it was…"

"That guy who just left?" Sam bowed his head downwards. The boy stepped closer. "Sam, what…" but the boy's eyes caught on the money lying on the floor, "oh, God." The realization in the boy's voice made Sam cry some more. The boy fell to his knees, to Sam's side. It was clear that he wanted to say something, but Sam's horrid cries were occupying ever inch of sound in the small room.

After a few moments, Sam's cries became less. He looked up, into the eyes of the boy who had stayed with him through the whole thing. "What's your name?" He asked in a quiet tone.

"Todd," the boy replied. A tear fell down his cheek.

"Todd – thank you for… this." Sam choked on the words. The sadness was nowhere close to being gone yet, but he was trying to control it.

"Anytime." The two looked at each other for a moment, and then Sam looked back down at his shoes. "You're… not alone, you know." Todd said. Sam looked back up at him. "Most of us have been through something somewhat similar to what you just went through. It's shitty, but it's what happens."

"What happened to you?" Sam questioned. Todd blinked and his eyes went vacant. Sam regretted asking the question. "I'm sorry. I…"

"No, it's okay." Todd breathed out deeply, and Sam now noticed a bit of shakiness in his sound. "Um, it was within the first month that I was here. A guy followed me backstage after the show – kept making me offers. I kept declining. I was fourteen, and I had never done anything sexual with anybody, but he kept persisting. I tried to run out of the room, but he locked me in, and he… he raped me. When he was done, he threw a few twenties at my feet then walked out, and I never saw him again."

There was silence. Todd wasn't crying anymore. In fact, he looked oddly calm, as if he had dealt with this truth too many times and didn't want to do it anymore. Sam, however, looked furious. His mouth was a quarter of an inch open, and his eyes were terrified. "Todd…"

"Look, it's in the past, okay? What's done is done. I can't change anything. I just have to get over it and move on, right? It'd be for the best if I could just fucking move on, but…" His sentence trailed off, and Todd jumped up to his feet.

Sam pushed himself up and stood also. "But what?"

Todd was breathing heavily, now. His eyes seemed lost in another world. His hands were limp at his sides, shaking.

"Todd, talk to me." Sam took a step towards Todd, but all too suddenly, Todd snapped back to reality. His eyes locked on Sam's for a brief moment before he ran out of the room. "Todd!" Sam called after him, but when he walked out into the hall, all he saw was the small vision of a body darting around a corner.

Another boy was in the hallway. He looked at Sam. "What the fuck just happened?" He asked, but Sam shook his head. If only he knew.

* * *

><p><em>A bit shorter, guys. Sorry : I've having a tad of writer's block at the moment._


End file.
